


vodka coke

by SoManyThings



Series: when in japan [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Friends With Benefits, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, One Night Stands, Porn With Plot, befriending your one night stand, i.e. bad choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 12:10:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9234440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoManyThings/pseuds/SoManyThings
Summary: "Looking at him, Hanamaki honestly didn’t know what to look at first. The messy bedhead, all tangled curls that looked so satisfying to just grap and pull. Maybe the eyebrows; very bushy, very noticeable, very, very cute.Or maybe how he looked like the exact opposite of what any good boy such as himeself should be getting himself into."****He only ever expected one night of sex with one (1) hot as fuck piercing artist. And yes, he got that, but along with it, he got so, so much more.





	

**Author's Note:**

> if you have read "places": this is the often mentioned story of how matsuhana happened!
> 
> if you haven't: go read it! ((if you don't, that's fine too, you don't need to know what happens in it to read this. you just need to accept that oikawa lives in america and is iwa's best friend & long term crush))

For a house party, the music was shockingly loud. 

Hanamaki questioned how much this could be called a house party, really, because it wasn’t a house, it was an apartment complex. That being said, it wasn't just a single flat. No, no, it spanned a good three or four apartments on one floor of a building a ways out of the city. It wasn't particularly sleazy, he supposed, but it was made up mostly of students - and that was explanation enough, really. 

He was a few months away from turning 20, and making his way through a degree in Mixed Modern Languages, and really, as a 19 year old kid doing a degree like his, you would have to expect at least  _ some  _ illegal shit. 

Said illegal shit was currently making his way towards Hanamaki from across the room. 

“Yo, Kuroo,” he called, waving at his friend of slightly questionable quality. He was a great guy, sure, but if Hanamaki ever got stopped by the police, it’d be Kuroo who would be the reason for it.

In lieu of a response, Kuroo merely threw a bottle of coke - more than likely to be more vodka than anything else - in his direction. Hanamaki merely smiled and nodded in appreciation. 

“So, how illegal is all this?” Hanamaki asked, letting Kuroo practically drape himself over his shoulders.   

“Not the worst we’ve ever done, but I did walk in on a guy doing lines off of some girl’s stomach,” he responded. Hanamaki laughed. Before he could respond, or make a joke about how he was missing out, Kuroo perked up, like he wasn’t even planning on listening to Hanamaki anymore in favour of gesturing at someone across the room to come over. Hanamaki followed his gaze, and felt his eyes go wide as he saw the man being brought over. 

Kuroo had waved at Bokuto, a mutual friend who worked part time at the bar where Kuroo worked full time, while also studying Mathematics at Hanamaki’s university. He had met Bokuto many a time. No, the surprise was in the man next to him.

Looking at him, Hanamaki honestly didn’t know what to look at first. The messy bedhead, all tangled curls that looked so satisfying to just grap and pull. Maybe the eyebrows; very bushy, very noticeable, very, very cute. 

Or maybe how he looked like the exact opposite of what any good boy such as himself should be getting himself into.

Both his arms were covered in ink. Hanamaki couldn’t even make out any of what the images actually were, but they were absolutely all intricate as hell. He assumed they were full sleeves, but he couldn’t tell from how his button up was bunched around his elbows - yes, at that Hanamaki had died a little. 

The piercings were a whole other level. The tally appeared to be at two lip rings - spider bites, if Hanamaki remembered his terminology - a gauge in his left lobe, two studs in his right, and a frankly aggressive amount of cartilage piercings. Well, they’d look aggressive on anyone else. On this guy, they somehow just made him  _ more  _ attractive. Hanamaki hadn’t really thought that was a possibility. 

As he neared them, Hanamaki also started make out small wisps of black ink peeking out of his collar, and found himself desperate to find out how far they extended. Sadly, Hot Mystery Man was surprisingly covered in terms of clothes. Hanamaki, quite frankly, did not appreciate that. 

“Who’s this?” He asked, glancing from the man who may as well be the death of him, and Kuroo. 

“Matsukawa Issei,” he said, and oh no, his voice was hot too. Hanamaki simply grinned. 

“Hanamaki Takahiro,” he replied, sticking his hand out just from habit. Touching him was only an added bonus, not at  _ all  _ why he had done it, no-

“Nice hair,” Matsukawa said, eyeing the bright pink mess Hanamaki had to deal with each morning. He always had it a shade of pink; what shade would be next was always a mystery. For the past month, it had been bubblegum. 

“Nice everything,” he said, clamping down on his tongue as soon as Bokuto broke into snorts and Matsukawa flushed. “Piercings, and all that,” he muttered, as if anything after that could save face.

“Well, I guess we know how the evening’s gonna go from here,” Kuroo chimed, punctuating his statement with a hearty laugh. “We’ll leave you two to chat. Use protection!” he said, calling out the last part from where he had already begun to lead Bokuto away by the arm. 

“So how d’you know Kuroo?” Hanamaki asked, taking a big swig of his drink -  _ definitely  _ more than half full of vodka - and trying not to grimace, lest he embarrass himself further. 

“I don’t actually,” Matsukawa hummed. “I’ve just done a lot of piercings for Bokuto’s boyfriend, who I think lives a few flats over, or something?” 

Hanamaki hummed in response, eyeing his piercings again and trying to convince himself that he wasn’t lingering on the two on his lips. So he was a piercing artist - how long had he been missing out on the chance to have this hottie leaning over him?

“How do you know Kuroo then?” Matsukawa asked, drawing him away from the thought of how fucking unfair it was that none of his piercing artists had been hot. 

“He’s my dealer,” was all Hanamaki said in return, with complete nonchalance. Matsukawa snorted. 

“Perfect, seems like I made friends with the right group of people,” he hummed. Hanamaki laughed. 

“Damn right you did. You pierce us, we share our weed.” 

Matsukawa laughed at that, fully and loudly, and Hanamaki was smiling along with him like it was the easiest thing. 

“I’m actually out tonight celebrating a newly healed piercing,” Matsukawa said suddenly, voice shifting and wow, did it get hotter, or was it just lower? Or really, was there a  _ difference _ ?

“Anything fun?” He asked, leaning him back against the wall and making himself look up at Matsukawa. 

His methods of flirting were about as subtle as a brick through a glass window, but Kuroo’s concoction of liquor wasn’t going to be wasted on batting his eyelids and hoping this guy thought he was pretty enough to take home. No, it was all or nothing, but he did not find himself disappointed when all he got for a response to his question was a flash across Matsukawa’s hooded eyes.

He was even less disappointed when Matsukawa stuck his tongue out, showing off a small silver bead in the centre of his tongue. 

Hanamaki felt his eyes widen, and Matsukawa laughed above him - with that stupid, low, sexy voice of his, god damn it.

“That enough fun for you?” he said, smile evident in his voice; Hanamaki coughed, running a hand through his hair. 

“Depends, how much does my face look like my hair?” He muttered, and smiled softly as he heard Matsukawa laughing above him. 

“Don’t worry about it, it’s cute,” he hummed. 

Hanamaki responded by reaching up to link his wrists behind Matsukawa’s neck and staring him in the eye. 

As subtle as a brick through a glass window.

“Cute enough to get you to kiss me?” He said, not even letting Matsukawa come up with a response, or do anything but put his hands on his waist, before pulling him down into a kiss.

Kissing someone with lip rings was an odd sensation, he decided. But, almost immediately, the tongue ring made it’s way into the mix, and Hanamaki decided he was going to melt. His roommate would be tragically heartbroken, Matsukawa would be chief mourner at his funeral, and it would all be Kuroo’s fault, somehow, as usual.  

But damn, even if this was going to kill him, he was going to enjoy every last bit of it. 

With that, he pulled Matsukawa closer, running his hand through the messy curls atop his head and tightening his grip once, marginally. Matsukawa gasped, pressing his body closer to Hanamaki’s and opening his mouth wider. 

“Wanna get out of here?” Matsukawa muttered against his lips after a while of just leaning against the wall kissing, and Hanamaki smiled. 

“How scandalous, Matsukawa- _ san, _ ” he laughed, looking up at him with an impish grin. Lightly, Matsukawa hit his palm against Hanamaki, where it rested on his hip. 

“More scandalous than us just getting off right here?” he said. Hanamaki rose an eyebrow. 

“Who says I ever planned on more than a kiss, hm?” he muttered, before gasping as Matsukawa pressed his thigh between Hanamaki’s, and hearing him whisper “ _ This”  _ directly into his ear. His breath was hot, and goosebumps rose across his skin, and none of that was doing any semblance of a good job to distract Hanamaki from the muscular leg pressing itself against his half hard dick.

“Of course, if you don’t want to I’d be more than happy to-”

“I didn’t say  _ no, _ ” Hanamaki huffed, practically a growl, as he lowered his hands to twist them in Matsukawa’s shirt so he could drag him closer to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. He felt Matsukawa hum contentedly, which turned to a broken gasp as Hanamaki rose the leg that was beneath Matsukawa’s crotch and ground it against him. It was with great triumph that he noted how the hands around his waist twitched and gripped harder.

“Get a room, you two!” Bokuto, or maybe Kuroo, yelled, and Hanamaki felt Matsukawa huff in annoyance.

“We were trying, but your dumb asses decided to turn everywhere into a crack den!” Hanamaki yelled back, feeling Matsukawa muffle laughter in his hair.

“Let’s head,” he muttered; Hanamaki hummed, raking his fingers down the other man’s chest once, lightly.  “My place isn’t too far and I live alone.”

Hanamaki nodded against him, hooking his finger in his belt loop and letting him lead them out of the crowded apartment, down the stairs and into the cool night.

 

After periodic kisses, a decently short walk, and one Hanamaki Takahiro attached to his belt loop, Matsukawa came to a halt to dig out his keys, before pushing open a thin door between a small grocery store and a flower shop. In silence, he lead the two of them up the stairs and into a tight but tidy apartment. 

Hanamaki looked around once, taking things in at a base level before being completely distracted by the feeling of lips pressed to the back of his neck and nipping lightly. He gasped softly, and every bead of arousal that had been set on the back burner for the walk came back in full force. 

He reached his hand backwards to Matsukawa’s neck, who let him tangle his hand in the hair on the back of his head again. With a soft thud, his head fall back onto the other’s shoulder, inviting Matsukawa to press a kiss just below his ear and drawing out a groan. 

“You good?” Matsukawa asked, pulling away slightly. Hanamaki glanced back once, before turning around fully. In lieu of a response, he shuffled backwards and dragged Matsukawa with until his back was pressed to the door, and his front was pressed to the other man’s chest. 

“Very,” he said, earning from Matsukawa a wide grin, a kiss, and his thigh back between Hanamaki’s. 

He opened his mouth wider as he gasped, prompting Matsukawa to prod his tongue deeper into his mouth, moaning when he felt the cold metal bead clack against his front teeth lightly. Slowly, he felt the realisation dawn upon him that kissing people that weren’t covered in piercings would be a bit of a disappointment.

Matsukawa suddenly tore away, and before Hanamaki could complain, he was pressing kisses down his jaw and along his neck, until he reached his clavicle and bit lightly. Hanamaki hummed, placing his hand in his dark brown curls once again and periodically tightening his grip as Matsukawa carried on showering his collarbone in affection. 

“Bedroom’s this way,” Matsukawa muttered, drawing away from Hanamaki’s neck and pulling him away from the wall. They both stumbled; Matsukawa seemed very eager to keep his lips as close to Hanamaki’s as possible, and the latter was not about to complain, even if it did make shucking his shirt off difficult. 

Hanamaki was shuffled backwards when they reached the small bedroom, until his legs hit the back of the mattress. As he let himself fall down, he grabbed the front of Matsukawa’s shirt to drag him down on top of him. Right away, he fit his thigh between Matsukawa’s, grinding it up against him and absolutely adoring the low groan he got out of him for it. 

Yes, Matsukawa was towering over him, but there was no way he had the upper hand.

“So, you gonna put that tongue piercing to good use?” He muttered, voice a deceptively soft lilt, designed to tease and doing a  _ very  _ good job. He leaned up to press a kiss beneath the other’s ear, drawing his lips across his jaw softly before pressing kisses down his neck and sucking in a bruise at the bottom. 

Matsukawa huffed out a laugh, which nonetheless choked off into a groan as Hanamaki began teasing his hands up and down his chest, around his sides, across his back-

He arched his back away from Hanamaki, swooping down to kiss his mouth again, but this time  _ rough _ . 

The pink haired man placed his hands on Matsukawa’s hips, gripping harder onto them as the other continued kissing him relentlessly. He began biting at his lips, sucking the lower one into his mouth - and the lip rings made a difference - swiping his tongue over his. Matsukawa - the  _ bastard _ \- only laughed as Hanamaki let out a groan and arched his body up into the other’s. 

“If you can tease, so can I,” Matsukawa practically sang, pulling away from Hanamaki and ignoring his frown in favour of shuffling down the bed and pressing kisses down his chest. Hanamaki smirked - and would absolutely deny any later accusation that he gasped when Matsukawa reached the crotch of his jeans. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, as Matsukawa began to pull the zipper down annoyingly slow. He shot a glance back up at Hanamaki, laughing as the latter bucked his hips up to try and get something more than a sarcastic glance of a touch. Preferably, even, the use of that damn hot mouth that had been doing wonders in a kiss. 

In return, Matsukawa took his hips in his hands and pressed them to the bed, resulting in a sharp inhale of breath, this time unmistakable. Matsukawa rose an eyebrow up at him; the latter hid his blush and kicked him softly on the side. 

The insult on his tongue died in favour of letting out a low groan as Matsukawa mouthed at him through his boxers, teasing the ball of his piercing against his dick before hooking his fingers in the waistband and dragging both his boxers and his jeans down his legs. 

“Damn, I was hoping you’d have gone the whole nine yards and dyed  _ everything, _ ” Matsukawa grinned. 

“Shut up and blow me,” he laughed in return.

Of course, he ate his words when Matsukawa actually  _ did.  _

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he muttered, breathless as he felt the air in his lungs leave him, pressing the side of his face into the pillow next to him as the man below him took the head of his dick into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around him, the metal ball dragging along, and the layers of sensations made Hanamaki’s breath hitch. 

Before he noticed what he was doing, his hands were tangled once again into Matsukawa’s messy hair, tightening sporadically as his tongue and lips worked around him and eliciting a low moan that sent reverberations up through Hanamaki’s spine. 

Matsukawa shifted, taking any of Hanamaki’s dick that he couldn’t fit in his mouth in his hand, tightening his grip in short pulses and twisting. Hanamaki groaned, twitching his legs where they had come up around the others back, pulling him closer marginally. 

He pulled back to let out a laugh, drawing his tongue - and the  _ stupid  _ piercing - along the head of Hanamaki’s dick. 

“I think you make up for the lack of dye for how much noise you make,  _ damn,”  _ he muttered, and Hanamaki let himself huff out a laugh.

“What, and you don’t?” 

“Wanna find out?” He asked, waggling his stupid eyebrows at him. Hanamaki rolled his eyes, folding himself forward while pulling Matsukawa upwards to press kiss to his mouth. He could taste the precome -  _ his own -  _ in his mouth, and simply bit at his lip. 

“You’re damn fucking right I do,” he whispered. Matsukawa smiled, letting himself be pulled upwards by Hanamaki’s grip on his shirt. 

Repositioning himself over Hanamaki, he hummed as the man below him made quick work of unbuttoning his shirt and shoving it off. He glanced down when Hanamaki stopped touching him, watching the other man as he took in all the ink on his body, and- oh lord, were his nipples pierced?

He let out a laugh, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the sensitive nub and the attached metal, and Matsukawa shivered. The lack of a shirt made not only his more hidden piercings visible, but also the tree branches that made their way around his torso, from the trunk on the back, alongside all the distinct birds on his shoulders and upper arms. 

“Nice,” Hanamaki muttered, voice low as he drew his fingers down Matsukawa’s chest and eliciting a another shiver. In response, Matsukawa merely leaned forward again to press another hot kiss against Hanamaki’s mouth, before drawing away to dig around his bedside drawer for condoms and lube. 

He returned to Hanamaki kicking off his jeans, remembering belatedly he had left them bunched around his knees and laughing to himself. At the sound of it, Hanamaki looked up; his eyebrows had furrowed, and damn, he was cute when he was confused. 

In lieu of an answer, Matsukawa leant forward and pressed kisses to his lips, more and more until he got the hint and settled back down onto the bed, head up near the wall. 

He watched as Hanamaki’s eyes roamed over his chest and arms, flexing only by necessity as he held himself up over the pink haired man. He smirked at the twinkle in his eyes, which tapered off into a gasp and then a low groan as Hanamaki started raking his fingernails down his arms, chest, stomach-

He pushed himself off the bed to press a kiss to the underside of Matsukawa’s jaw, mouthing hotly and smirking into his skin as he heard the man above him gasp. His hands trailed lower, lower- yes, the sharp inhale of breath as he dug the heel of his palm against the crotch of Matsukawa’s jeans was  _ very  _ worth it. 

“Giving a blowjob does a number on you, huh?” He murmured, biting at the juncture between his neck and shoulder as he carried on pushing pressure onto his dick. Matsukawa hummed. 

“What can I say, I’m a giving person,” he said. Beneath him, Hanamaki’s eyes glimmered. 

“Then get your jeans off and show me what you’ve got to give,” he laughed. Matsukawa rolled his eyes, batting the pink hair away from his neck so he could get access to his jeans. Finally free of his jeans, he looked back at Hanamaki, and jumped when he saw the other man looking at him, arms behind his head. 

“What are you staring at?” 

In response, Hanamaki reached his arms up, running his hands along Matsukawa’s shoulders once again, down against the metal on his chest, to his hip bones, in towards his crotch but not  _ quite  _ touching. Matsukawa shivered. 

“Mmm, everything,” Hanamakihummed, returning his attention to Matsukawa’s clavicle, nipping lightly and started sucking a small bruise into it. As he pulled back, he eyed the mark. It contrasted to the tan glimmer of his skin, and placed just above a tattoo of a bluejay. 

The hands on his hips tightened their grip as Matsukawa gasped, grinding his hips down lightly onto Hanamaki’s. 

“Do you -  _ ah  _ \- want to cover me in hickeys, or let me -  _ shit  _ \- fuck you,” Matsukawa got out. Hanamaki laughed. 

“Both,” he hummed, but pulled back to lay down and look up him anyway. “Go, take me now,  _ Issei,”  _ he chimed, complete with a wave of his hand for an added bit of flourish. Matsukawa laughed, sitting back on his legs and relishing in the whine he got for it. 

“Oh? You're awfully demanding,  _ Takahiro, _ ” he retorted. Hanamaki snorted. “Why d’you expect me to do all the work?” 

Hanamaki’s eyes gleamed, devilishly, and no matter how short a time Matsukawa had known him, he didn't trust it. 

And rightly so, it seemed, because one minute Hanamaki was lying back, and the next he was throwing himself at Matsukawa, pushing him over backwards and sitting flat on his chest. 

He sucked in a deep breath, out of shock, but didn't have any time to think it through before Hanamaki was grinding his ass down on his dick. 

“Stop me if it's too quick for you,” Hanamaki practically sang: Matsukawa just moaned. 

“F-fuck-  _ Hanamaki,”  _

Hanamaki leant over Matsukawa, groping around on the bed for the lube before finding, uncapping and pouring it on his own hand. From below him, Matsukawa whimpered: it had begun to pour over and splat on his bare chest. 

Wordlessly, the pink haired man reached behind himself, and slowly pressed his fingers into himself. His mouth opened into a silent moan, while he absentmindedly rocked forward onto Matsukawa’s chest, who just whined. 

“Hanamaki-” he tried, reaching his hand to rest on the soft flesh of his ass, before getting it slapped away. 

“You forfeited the right to finger me when you kept bitching about me taking my time,” he snarked. Matsukawa rolled his eyes. 

“You’re saying that you're gonna pass up on any help finding-” 

He was cut off squarely by a very loud,  _ very  _ attractive moan, that went straight to his dick as it tapered off into a keening whine; Hanamaki ground himself against the hard lines of Matsukawa’s stomach. His mouth ran dry. 

“Holy shit-” he said, voice gravelled. Hanamaki laughed, leaning forward and pressing a passive aggressively patronising kiss to his forehead. 

With a shudder, Hanamaki pulled his fingers away from himself and wiping them on the sheets below him. He ignored the noise of protest below him: funnily enough, grabbing someone's dick to prep it up does wonders for distracting them from the fact they have lube on their bed. 

“Hanamaki-” Matsukawa moaned, because then it wasn't Hanamaki’s hand on his dick, it was the soft swell of his ass and then he was sinking  _ down.  _

Matsukawa let out a low groan, hands flying up to Hanamaki’s hips and gripping to near bruising pressure. 

The man above him bounced a few times,  _ hard _ , sucking in gasps of air himself as he did. Regardless, it was nothing compared to how Matsukawa moaned. 

“Ah, so you a _ -are  _ noisy-” Hanamaki gasped out, between bounces. Matsukawa let out a moan in response. 

“Fuck,  _ fuck,  _ Makki-” he gasped, tightening his hold on the man's hips. It was so good, so much, he felt so  _ hot  _ and  _ tight _ and- 

“Why the  _ fuck  _ are you stopping?” Matsukawa cried, eyes practically rolling back in his head. 

“Hm, y’know, I see what you mean- why rush, after all?” he responded; he simply giggled as Matsukawa punched him lightly on the thigh. 

“I swear to  _ god,  _ Hanamaki-” he grit out, “ _ Please-” _

“Begging already?” Hanamaki sang, grinding his hips in a circle once before sitting still again. With a sob, Matsukawa threw his head back on the mattress.

It only took two more times of Hanamaki grinding down his hips for him to snap. 

“No,  _ no-  _ fuck you, Hanamaki Takahiro, I am not  _ begging-”  _ he hissed. Hanamaki laughed, but it broke off into a gasp as Matsukawa roughly shoving him back, hard enough and with enough surprise to push him backwards. He stared wide eyed at Matsukawa.  

“Holy shit,” he gaped. Matsukawa growled, staring down at him as he caged him in with his arms and realigned his dick to press into him. They both moaned: he wasn't exactly  _ gentle _ . 

“Tell me if _ I’m _ going too fast” he hissed, but Hanamaki was shaking his head furiously, wrapping his arms around his neck and linking his ankles behind his back. 

“ _ Move,”  _ he moaned, and then he was, dear god was he moving. 

He rammed into him again and again, starting up a brutal pace right off the bat until the room was filled with an orchestra of cries, keens, moans and slapping skin on skin. 

As Hanamaki tightened his grip around Matsukawa’s body, the other man groped at his hips, shifting him forward and upwards until a loud scream alerted him to the fact he had hit the right spot. 

The teasing hadn't been excessive, but it had gone on long enough: so really, it was no surprise that in a matter of a few short minutes, Matsukawa’s rhythm faltered to a stuttering of his hips. 

He lifted his arm up long enough to grab Hanamaki’s hand, ignoring his confusion bringing it down between them with a soft instruction-slash-plead-slash-moan for him to just touch himself already. Hanamaki laughed, cutting himself off with another loud moan as he hit his prostate once more. 

But then he was wrapping his hand around himself and stroking in time with Matsukawa’s thrusts and gasping and moaning and tightening his hand and his muscles around Matsukawa and  _ coming- _

Near instantly, Matsukawa was coming too, following Hanamaki over the edge because hell, it was his fault in the first place. He kept moving, twitching near excessively as he carried fucking into him through both their orgasms. 

With a low groan, he collapsed on top of Hanamaki, gasping as he did. 

“Motherfucker-” Hanamaki gasped out, blinking white out of his eyes. With a noise of mock disgust, he shoved at Matsukawa’s shoulder. He made a noise of contentment. 

“I'm going to sleep like this,” Matsukawa muttered into the pillow. 

“Dude, gross,” Hanamaki laughed, poking at his shoulder until he moved up, out and off of him. 

“Drama queen,” Matsukawa mumbled. 

“Drama queen who gave you a fucking brilliant orgasm,” Hanamaki corrected. “Now get me a towel.” 

“Yes,  _ your highness,”  _ he hummed. 

“Fuck you!”

“Oo, Hanamaki, so soon after? Impressive!” 

“I hate you.”

\----

Hanamaki woke up the next morning to the feeling of being almost completely smothered. 

He lifted his head up to look down at the figure on his chest, and rolled his eyes. As he expected, Matsukawa’s hair at a party was the exact same as his stupid bedhead, if the tangled curls that moved up and down with his breathing were anything to go by. 

Hanamaki absentmindedly found himself playing with the stray hairs splayed out across his chest. Usually by this point of the morning he would have gotten out of the person’s bed  _ at least,  _ but on a regular night after a successful pull, he’d find his clothes, snatch some coffee and head on his way. 

Although, he figured, even if he was physically capable of actually getting out of bed, this time he reckoned he’d stick around.

Matsukawa seemed chill, he reasoned. And someone that could be a good friend, a bro, regardless of whether or not they  _ got off  _ on the wrong foot. 

He began to laugh to himself, at his own stupid pun, and in the process, jostled the sleeping man on top of him enough to rouse him to semi-alertness. 

“Not a morning person, huh?” Hanamaki mused. Matsukawa flicked his arm. 

“If you’re gonna stay, then shut up and lemme sleep,” he mumbled, practically into Hanamaki’s shirt. 

“I’m going to stay because I’m  _ physically incapable  _ of getting out of bed, jerk,” was the response. Matsukawa groaned and flopped over, before pushing himself up to a sitting position and leaning his head on his hand. After he failed to notice any movement, he glanced down at Hanamaki, where he lay with his hands behind his head, and smiled lazily up at Matsukawa. 

“Okay  _ fine,  _ I’m not a morning person- stop fucking laughing!” 

His laughter tapered off as he rolled off the bed, hoisting himself up to a stand and wandering out of his bedroom, calling “I’m stealing your coffee!” over his shoulder as Matsukawa flopped back onto his bed. 

When he poked his head in the bedroom, steaming cup of aggressively sugary coffee in hand, and found Matsukawa actually awake enough to tap at his phone, he made his way to the bedside and sat down. 

“Not to be a dick, but why are you still here?” Matsukawa asked, from where he lay on his side, voice slightly muffled by his pillow. Sure, he was  _ awake,  _ but hadn’t lost the morning grumpiness even slightly. He set his phone down and cast the one eye visible above the pillow up at Hanamaki. 

“I told you, I wanted coffee. So I made coffee,” Hanamaki responded. Matsukawa scoffed. “Take it you’re not a  _ relationship  _ kinda guy?” he asked, sipping more of his sugar-caffeine mixture. Matsukawa shrugged.

“I’m open to them, I guess, but if I’m honest it’s not what I was looking for last night,” he said, about to roll over to look up at Hanamaki before adding; “Also, I dunno that I wanna date someone that steals my coffee and wakes up this fucking early.”

“It’s 10 am, dude.”

“I know, it’s  _ horrific.”  _

Hanamaki laughed at that, carrying on with his drink before responding. 

“You’re good dude, by the way, relationship-wise. Definitely a good lay, but I’d be happy to leave it at that.”

“10/10, would recommend?” Matsukawa muttered, shooting a look up at Hanamaki. He caught his eye for a second, before both of them devolved into laughter. 

“We’ll probably see each other around at parties anyway, that’d be chill,” Matsukawa carried on, after they had both stopped laughing. 

“Oh, great, you can amuse me with old memes, I can’t wait,” Hanamaki said, voice dripping in sarcasm as the two continued to chuckle occasionally. 

“Whatever, nerd, just get out of my house soon so I can sleep,” Matsukawa laughed. Hanamaki flicked his ear, before downing his coffee and standing up.

“Don’t sleep yourself into a coma!” He called, and Matsukawa made a grunt of assent before falling back asleep. 

When he did wake up, and make his way into the kitchen, he found a small note on the table. It was what looked like a phone number, with the following message:

_ “ text me like one of your old memes -  **( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)** ” _

The first message Matsukawa sent was, quite simply, “im going to block you”, receiving nothing but emojis in return.  

\------

“Well well, look who it is.”

Hanamaki turned around, looking up from where he was sat on Bokuto’s living room floor. He blinked against the overhead lights, squinting at the shady and ominously tall man above him, but broke into a wide smile in no time letting Matsukawa pull him up into a hug. He just grinned at him.

“New hair colour,” he noted. It was a dark maroon-ish colour now. Hanamaki shrugged.

“And nothing new with you,” Hanamaki replied, voice sombre. “I’m disappointed,  _ Mattsun.” _

Matsukawa rolled his eyes, shaking his head in disdain at the nickname. Nonetheless, he pulled up the hem of his t-shirt to display a tiny blob of a cartoon bird.

“Birb,” was all he offered as explanation, and Hanamaki lost it.

At the sound of a cough, however, he turned around. Kuroo and Bokuto were watching them, eyes wide and flickering between the two like they were watching a tennis match. Akaashi, who had gotten the door to let Matsukawa in, sat down and leant his head on Bokuto’s shoulder. To anyone who hadn't met him, he would have looked bored and disinterested, but Hanamaki caught the amused glint. 

Hanamaki kicked Kuroo’s leg as he sat down, shooting him a glare. 

“What, I show up and you all fall silent?” Matsukawa joked, reaching to grab a beer from the middle of the circle and drawing the small group out of their supposed trance. 

“You render us all speechless, my man,” Kuroo hummed. 

“Didn't you two fuck like, ages ago?” Bokuto said. Akaashi sighed, dropping his face into his hand. 

“You have no tact, Bokuto,” he muttered. Hanamaki just laughed. 

“Man, I know for a fact you slept with Kuroo at least twice before Akaashi!” Matsukawa chimed; everyone around him broke into soft giggles, aside from the gobsmacked expression on Bokuto’s face. 

“Where the hell did you hear that?” He cried; wordlessly, Matsukawa pointed to Hanamaki. Bokuto narrowed his eyes at him. “ _ You- _ ”

“I was still a bit surprised you were so chill with it though,” Matsukawa continued, nodding to Akaashi. He merely shrugged. 

“I slept with Kuroo first, we called it even.” 

With laughter abound, the night carried on, with the warm, bubbling feeling of alcohol spreading throughout the group of five. By 11pm, they were all more than a little bit tipsy. By 1am, Kuroo had fallen asleep on the sofa. By 2:30am, Bokuto and Akaashi had devolved into an avid make out session, until enough whining about public indecency pushed them to leave the room. 

So, by 3am, Hanamaki and Matsukawa were the only two left, ignoring Kuroo's sleeping figure, happily buzzed and draped over the floor. 

“What do you call a defective can opener?” Matsukawa hummed. At Hanamaki’s questioning noise and glance up, he looked down to where he lay on the floor. 

“What?”

“A can’t opener.” 

Hanamaki let out a loud bark of laughter, practically spasming on the floor as his body shook with giggles. Matsukawa hummed and took another swig of beer.

“It wasn’t that funny, man-”

“It was fucking  _ hilarious,”  _ Hanamaki gasped; Matsukawa rolled his eyes, reaching down to ruffle his pink hair. Hanamaki hummed, letting himself smile and push his head against the other man’s leg. 

“Y’know, I didn’t think they’d be that surprised that we keep talking,” Matsukawa said, getting a snort out of Hanamaki. 

“You haven’t known them as long as me,” he responded. “They do all the stupid shit, but fuss about their friends when they do the same things.”

“Befriending one night stands?”

“How do you think they met Akaashi?”

Matsukawa let out a loud bark of laughter, folding himself over as his body wracked with laughter. Sure, it wouldn’t have been this funny if he was sober, but there was something about laughing over the weird shit his clients and new friends got up to at 3 am with someone like Hanamaki.  He turned to look at him, smiling as he did: he watched as his lean body curled in on itself, kicking his feet lightly as he did.

“I think we’re good as is,” he hummed. 

“Sure you won’t miss this, hot stuff?” Hanamaki said, winking exaggeratedly and clawing his hand as flirtatiously as his hazy mind could handle. Matsukawa laughed. 

“Happy to be best buds, my guy.”

“Best buds sounds  _ sick,”  _ Hanamaki hummed, sitting up to lean his head on Matsukawa’s lap. He peered up at him, all wide eyes and big smile, and another wink. 

After that, it was all over: their snorts of laughter echoed around the silent room until Kuroo woke up and moaned until they begrudgingly shut themselves up. 

\------

The months passed, and being “best buds” as Matsukawa had put it was, quite frankly, the fucking bomb. He always had someone to spend time with at parties, he could text him puns at 3am and get only minor swearing in return, he could rock up unannounced at his flat and get food for the small price of cleaning his kitchen. It was great fun. 

Until it wasn't. 

“Why is this a problem, again?” Iwaizumi asked, looking up from his laptop screen to give a confused glance at Hanamaki. He sat upside down on Iwaizumi’s bed, feet on the wall and head nearly dangling off the side, looking up at the ceiling before tilting his head to stare at Iwaizumi’s topsy-turvy figure with a frown.

“Because it was a meaningless hook up that suddenly got meaning, ” he moaned. “But I don’t wanna fuck up the friendship we’ve got going on!” 

“Why the hell d’you think I’d know what to do?” he countered, turning around in his desk chairs with crossed arms to give Hanamaki a look.

“Oh c’mon, we both know you’ve been in love with your American friend for like, 6 years-”

"That has  _nothing_ to do with one night stands, Makki."  he said, sternly. Hanamaki merely laughed. 

“Well, I can't exactly tell my other best friend, can I.” he muttered, sighing heavily and turning his face away from Iwaizumi to stare at his ceiling.

It wasn't fair, really. It wasn't even the first friend he had gotten off with. Hell, of all his close friends, it was only Iwaizumi who he didn't have a session of mutual orgasms with under his belt. 

But Matsukawa -  _ fucking _ Matsukawa, he had to be the outlier. Was it the tongue piercing? Was it the obsession with bird tattoos for no apparent reason? Was it the eyebrows? Who fucking  _ knew.  _

All Hanamaki knew is that of all the guys he had tried to get with recently, of all the girls he had almost brought home, of all the folks outside the binary that he could have kissed but didn't… None of them did it for him, and none of them were Matsukawa. And, funnily enough, he didn't think it was a coincidence. 

“Just don't do something stupid,” Iwaizumi muttered. Hanamaki laughed. 

Did he ever do anything but?

\-------

“This is-  _ ah-  _ a really bad idea, right?” Hanamaki gasped out. Matsukawa hummed, too busy unbuttoning his jeans to reply properly. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he muttered. Hanamaki noticed he didn't  _ actually _ slow down at all, and laughed. 

“Not at _all_.” 

“Good,” Matsukawa mumbled, before dropping to his knees. He finally got Hanamaki’s jeans unbuttoned, it seemed, and was going to put that fact to good use. 

It was blurry after that: being pressed against the wall forcibly, digging his hands hard into Matsukawa’s birds nest of a hairstyle, coming harder than he had in  _ weeks-  _

When he finished jerking Matsukawa off, and let him slump against him, panting heavily, he pretended he didn't mind the stickiness in his hand. He pretended that he didn't know Iwaizumi would be disappointed. He pretended that he didn't feel awful, morally reprehensible, like he was taking advantage of his best friend. 

And most of all, he pretended that when Matsukawa kissed him, it didn't mean anything to him. 

\-------

“I'm an a-awful person, I-Iwa-” 

“Hey, hey- Makki, sit down-” 

“J-just because I can't keep it in my pants- a-and he doesn't kn- _ know!” _

With a hefty sigh and much effort, Iwaizumi wrestled the bottle of coke - likely to be more vodka than anything else - from his grip. 

“Shut up, Takahiro,” he grumbled, sparing a glance back at his open laptop. Hanamaki could just make out a face on the screen, face bunched up in worry behind a pair of glasses and a blanket burrito. It was bright green, with UFOs on it. 

“I-I’m sorry for i-interrupting you and your friend,” he muttered, finally calming down as his anger and upset started to be replaced by shame. The face on the laptop made a noise. 

“You need to communicate about what you want!” he chimed, in heavily accented japanese. American was it? Hanamaki hummed.  _ Great _ , he figured,  _ the first time his best friend meets me, I'm a mess.  _ As if that didn't make him feel worse. 

“Th-thanks, burrito-” he slurred, already moving away from caring. Iwaizumi snorted, and the face on the screen made a confused noise. 

“I'm going to take him to his room, Tooru,” Iwaizumi said, helping Hanamaki stand up shakily. The boy on the screen - Tooru- called out a small “feel better!” and Hanamaki shot him a peace sign, not even sure if he saw it. 

Iwaizumi sat him down on his bed, digging around his dresser for his pyjamas as Hanamaki flopped onto the bed, sighing heavily as he did. 

“Listen, Takahiro,” he began. Hanamaki groaned. When he called him Takahiro, he was either full of  anger, or of pity, and it didn't take a genius to guess which it was tonight. 

“I don't want pity, Hajime-” he slurred. Iwaizumi tutted, walking back over and tossing a new t-shirt at him. 

“Then stop sitting around feeling sorry for yourself,” he chided. Still, his voice was softer than it usually was.

“I'm not-” 

“Bullshit, you absolutely are.” Iwaizumi said, voice loud. Hanamaki shut his mouth. “Listen to me, Takahiro, I'm not going to tell you how to live your life. I have no credibility for telling you to tell your best friend you fell hard.”

“You should, he's nice,” he murmured. Iwaizumi tutted, silencing him with a glare.

“ _ But _ , I know that you are  _ not  _ a bad person. You're confused, and need to stop drinking to solve your problems, but you're a good guy.”

Hanamaki blinked at him, and then he was standing up unsteadily, hugging him harder, crying just as noisily as earlier on, listening to Iwaizumi soothe him down, until he finally, finally fell asleep. 

\-------

The months passed. The fumbling hook-ups didn’t get  _ more _ frequent, but got no  _ less _ frequent. Iwaizumi was at the end of many complaints about his stupid  _ hair _ , and his stupid  _ piercings _ , and his stupid  _ sex skills _ , and his stupid  _ face _ . And Hanamaki had gotten no closer to actually telling his friend that it had stopped being a meaningless outlet for sex.  

In the end, the solution was plainly simple, and almost entirely the same as the beginning: semi-illegal shit, provided by Kuroo.

Hanamaki threw back another shot, letting his eyes flutter shut and keeping them like that for a moment, listening as Matsukawa began to pour out more drinks. It was fucking strong imported vodka, that was strong but not disgusting, and Hanamaki was elated. 

“ _ Man,  _ I fucking love Kuroo,” he hummed, resulting in a soft chuckle from Matsukawa. 

“You’ve said that after every drink you’ve downed, dude,” he laughed. Hanamaki sat up and gave him a look, pointing to him as he did. 

“And I stand by it.” 

Matsukawa laughed, rolling his eyes and downing another. 

The two sat for a while, laughing at everything and nothing as the alcohol in their system grew and started to take effect, until they finally realised that, in the process, they had gravitated towards each other, and were now practically holding each other up. Hanamaki hummed, nuzzling his head under Matsukawa’s chin.

“Get off,” he laughed, “that tickles, you dick-”

He rolled his eyes and Hanamaki sat up only to stick his tongue out at him, before leaning back down onto his shoulder and gently nudging him with his head. Absentmindedly, he brought his hand up to play with the soft pink locks on his friends’ head, until he was practically petting him. 

“What was that?” He asked, tuning back into the world as he realised Hanamaki had mumbled something against his shirt. 

“I  _ said _ , it’s not fair that you’re so fucking hot,” he practically moaned, giving him an exaggerated pout. Matsukawa laughed. 

“Nah, shut up, you’re just as hot as me, man-”

“No,” Hanamaki whined, butting his head against Matsukawa’s and pressing his fingers to his lips. Matsukawa merely rolled his eyes. “You’re, like-  _ like batman-” _

“What the fuck are you trying to say?” he asked, with a laugh, voice muffled by Hanamaki’s finger pressed against it and giving his friend a look. 

“You’re  _ super  _ hot!” he cried. Matsukawa groaned. 

“Your puns are worse when you’re drunk, Makki-”

“No, no, you’re not listening to me,”

“I’m listening perfectly well, Makki-”

“Shut up and lemme talk!” Hanamaki yelled, slamming his palms against Matsukawa’s cheeks and making him jump. The pink haired boy stared at him, and he stared back, before the first began devolving into giggles and knocked his head against Matsukawa’s. 

“Alright, you’re done,” Matsukawa muttered, leaving Hanamaki to flop on his back as he shuffled drinks away from them. Before long, however, he felt hands on the back of his shirt, and then he was being dragged down to lie next to his friend. 

At Hanamaki’s insistence, they lay on their sides, facing each other. Matsukawa raised an eyebrow at him.

“You gonna tell me what’s up?” 

“You’re  _ hot,”  _ was all he moaned. Matsukawa laughed, prepared to brush him off, but cut himself off as Hanamaki put his hand on his neck. 

“Makki?” 

“Like, yeah, you’re hot and the sex is fucking stellar, but like- d’you- d’you ever just want something that’s _not_ sex?” He said, looking straight at Matsukawa as he did. The latter’s eyes widened. 

“Dude,” he muttered, voice soft, as he started to sober up. 

“As in, like, yeah, I’m hella glad we’re best friends, but like- I wanna do the dumb shit like holdin’ hands, and kisses on the forehead, and all that mushy crap, y’know?” He mumbled, still holding Matsukawa’s gaze.

“Like, boyfriends?” Matsukawa asked, slowly and quietly, after a long pause. Hanamaki blinked at him, as if processing his words, before snorting and turning away.

“Fuck.  _ Fuck,  _ yeah, boyf- boyfriends. That’s the word,” he muttered. 

He looked up as he felt a calloused hand on his cheek, before he was pulled into a soft, chaste kiss. When Matsukawa pulled away, Hanamaki merely blinked. 

Matsukawa smiled at him, softly, retracting his hand and quietly laughing as he let Hanamaki bury his face in the crook between Matsukawa’s chin and shoulder. He groaned softly against Matsukawa’s neck, who merely set his hand against Hanamaki’s pink hair - a pale colour, now - and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. 

“Makki, dude-” he muttered, pulling his friend away from where he had seemingly tried to burrow himself as far into Matsukawa as possible. As it stood, his face was  _ far  _ redder than his hair. Hanamaki finally looked him in the eye, and smiled softly. 

“Being boyfriends would be fucking  _ sick, _ ” Matsukawa said, grinning widely down at Hanamaki. He returned the smile, at an increasing pace, before knocking his head - surprisingly gently - against Matsukawa’s. 

Hanamaki smiled up at him. Matsukawa reciprocated it, before letting out a small, surprised noise as Hanamaki kissed him. 

As he kissed back softly, it became very evident that that was  _ not  _ what Hanamaki had had in mind. He pressed closer into Matsukawa, drawing his hand up the other’s arm and gripping softly into the fabric at his shirt. 

Matsukawa rolled his eyes at how fucking obvious he was being, but gasped nonetheless as he felt Hanamaki bite his lip, toying gently with his piercing. 

“Dude,” he muttered, pulling back softly. Hanamaki had flushed, from emotions or alcohol or just the energy his drunk mind put into kissing. Still, he whined, furrowing his eyebrows and pressing his entire body closer to Matsukawa’s in pursuit of another kiss, slowly rubbing his hand down the planes of the other’s chest as he did. 

“Makki,” he said, more insistent this time, pressing his hand against the other’s face. He laughed to himself as he noted the utterly confused look Hanamaki had on regarding what was covering him. 

“Cut it out, man, you're fucked-” he continued, drawing his attention back to the problem child at hand. 

“Mattsuuuuun,” Hanamaki whined. 

“I’m not gonna touch you till you sober up. I like you too much to fuck things up worse than we already have. Also, I'm not an asshole.”

Hanamaki frowned, pulling his head back from Matsukawa’s hand. 

“Fine. Can we at least cuddle?” he asked; Matsukawa snorted. 

“Yeah, sure, you big nerd.” He mumbled with a smile, lifting his arm up and pulling Hanamaki into his chest. He did not at all miss the contented hum he gave out. 

“You’re very warm,” Hanamaki hummed. 

“And you smell like very bad alcohol,” Matsukawa retorted. Nonetheless, Hanamaki hugged his torso to him, nuzzling his face into Matsukawa’s broad chest. 

“Blame Kuroo.”

“I always do,” Matsukawa sighed, and Hanamaki laughed. After a while, when Matsukawa had taken to playing with the soft cropped hair atop Hanamaki’s head and listening to his soft humming, he spoke.

“You could have just told me, y’know,” Matsukawa mumbled, and felt Hanamaki’s face scrunch up against him. 

“Fucking- when d’you think I should have done that?” He muttered, pulling his face marginally away from him to glare upwards. “After the casual hook ups started again? Or when I was under the impression you were a totally platonic bro who didn’t want relationships?” 

Matsukawa gave him a soft laugh. “Yeah- okay, that's fair. I did a lot of whining to Bokuto ‘bout you, is all, you could have saved part of my dignity.”

Hanamaki practically snorted. “Fucking- I spent so long doing the same to my roommate, we can call it even,” he mumbled, hugging Matsukawa tighter. Sparing a glance down at the pink blob against his chest, Matsukawa smiled. 

“Let’s do that,” he muttered, pressing an absentminded kiss atop the pink fluff Hanamaki called hair. He drifted off into sleep, smile on his face, and newly acquired boyfriend in his arms. 

**Author's Note:**

> ヽ( ´ ▽ ` )ノ yay matsuhana
> 
> i am highkey just trying to post the last of my WIPs before i go back to uni, so if there are errors let me know and ill recheck!
> 
> yell with me about seijou @ americanbeautiies.tumblr.com


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